The House of Irk

May 10, 2013

Mrs. Edith Wharton

“The Mount” Estate

Lenox, Massachusetts

USA

 

Dear Edith,

It’s probably a bit ghoulish to be writing to you now that you have been dead for 76 years, but, for obvious reasons, I never got a chance to say what a fan I am of your books; notably your dark, tragic novels, “Ethan Frome,” “The Age of Innocence” and “The House of Mirth.” They were brilliant, ironic essays on social manners in America’s Gilded Age.  But also your other masterwork, “The Decoration of Houses” (1897.) As a retired designer myself, I happen to know it has become regarded as the very first textbook on interior design.  

I think if you are looking down from heaven, you must be giving a nod of approval to the designers whose work is currently on display at the Dayton Philharmonic’s Volunteer Association’s “Designers’ Show House.” I toured there this week and I must say that they seem to have followed your principles to the letter: restrained taste and elegance; coordinating colors throughout; furnishings in compatible scale and proportion; garden spaces conceived as outdoor rooms; toss cushions fluffed just so; exactly as you ordained. “Edith’s Edicts,” I call them.

I toured the house with a group of about 50 ladies who had all attended an afternoon tea. Everyone was enchanted, or so I would believe based on the comments I overheard. “Oh, I LOVE this room!” “Oh, look how pretty those drapes are!” “Oh, I could totally see myself waking up in this bedroom!” “Oh, isn’t that the cleverest towel hook you’ve ever seen?” There was no end to the oohs and aahs. It was like we had walked into 3-D, live version of “Martha Stewart Living” (gee, maybe you are her Patron Saint?)

The friend I was with observed that women in show homes seem to get a bit restless. You can almost hear the wheels turning. Some are plotting the transfer of decorating ideas to their own homes. Some are planning to hire the designers to work magic especially for them.

 At one point, my friend said, “You know, these decorators are so clever! I can never get it right! I can never make up my mind what I want! I think I like something. I buy it. I get it home and I hate it! Do you ever do that?”

I said, “Oh, once in a while!” thinking, “You have no idea how often!” Seriously, for someone with training and experience, I am notoriously bad at decorating. I’ve lost count of how many dumb mistakes I’ve made. From our very first dining table — a trestle around which I put trestle chairs that simply wouldn’t fit under it — to the series of totally uncomfortable couches we’ve had, hated and discarded over the years, starting with the one dubbed “the ouch” to the current monstrosity lurking in our living room. When the delivery guy unloaded it, he said, “Are you sure this is the couch you ordered, ma’am?” I wasn’t. I remembered my feet touching the floor in the showroom. This hulking mass of upholstery bore no resemblance to what I thought I picked out. We let Riley sleep on it. We’re hoping it will fade fast so we can call Goodwill for a truck to come and get it.

And then I can go back to my fantasy that somewhere out there I will finally find the perfect piece of furniture to pull my whole room together. Which brings me, dear Edith, to wonder if somehow I missed the chapter in “The Decoration of Houses” on how to coordinate a whole room? Does your book contain a secret code only decipherable by the uber-talented? It has been a life-long irk of mine that I didn’t get the decorator gene. That damn couch is just throwing that in my face every time I look at it!

 A clever towel bar by a talented designer